“A business proposition?” said Leo. “Who the fuck are you? And what’s going on here?”

“An audition,” said the other man. He was slight of build, having a caramel complexion, a paunchy gut, and a bald pate. Judging by his appearance, he was from Qirin, one of the Free Cities of the Far East.

“An audition for what?” Leo said.

“For my business proposition. You passed — with flying colors.”

“So you were the one behind all this? The puzzles… the arrows…?”

The Qirini shrugged. “A fun ruse. My methods are a little unorthodox.”

“A little? We were ambushed by an assassin from the League of Shadows!”

“WHAT!? An assassin?” Tomasso stood up to his full five feet, jowls quivering. He turned to the Qirini, furious. “Cosimo, you told me they would be in no danger.”

“I lied,” said Cosimo casually, as if this was obvious and predictable.

“Then we needn't hear your proposition,” Tomasso said. “I won't conduct business with a confessed liar. Business must be based on trust.”

“On trust… or on gold. How would you like a big pot of gold?”

“I, err — gold or promissory notes? Because your promise is worth dogshit.”

“I have no gold near to hand. So instead… erm, how about a house?”

“I… which house?”

“Why not this one?”

“Th-this one?”

“I'll have the deed furnished within the hour — IF, you stay and listen to my proposal. You don’t even need to agree to it. Just lend me your ears.”

“A high price to pay for our attention,” said Leo, skeptical.

Again, the Qirini shrugged. “Money is no object to me.”

Enzo said, “Every man craves something.”

“Yes. Hence my business proposition. Come, sit. Make yourself comfortable.”

Still skeptical, the trio of adventurers hesitated.

“It’s alright,” said Tomasso, apparently placated by his sudden acquisition of an opulent manse. “He already explained the contours of his proposal to me; I think you’ll find it quite appealing.”

Cosimo nodded. “I’m assembling a party for a precarious expedition. I need a pair of skilled adventurers to accompany me. Please, sit.”

“Is there room for our apprentice, Gianna?” asked Leo.

“On the sofa? Yes. It comfortably seats six.”

“I mean in the party.”

“Umm…” He looked to Tomasso for help.

“Let’s table that discussion for now,” said Tomasso. “Join us.”

When they were each seated comfortably on the sofa beside the blazing hearth, Cosimo dived immediately into his proposal. He leaned in, hands steepled under his chin, and looked them square in the eyes.

“By fate or serendipity I have come into possession of a clue — a possible lead into the whereabouts of Ilhen's Seventh. Are you familiar with the legend?”

“Familiar,” said Enzo. “More myth than legend, from what I hear…”

“A week ago, I might have agreed with you.”

“Wait, enlighten me,” said Leo. “Who is Ilhen, and what are his Seven?”

“Ilhen Rimani,” explained Enzo, “was an Arkimidean polymath and autodidact. A painter, a physicist, a poet, a mage, and most notably a trapwright. He designed deathtraps, laying traps inside tombs and temples to guard precious relics. You remember the Morvia Tomb?”

“Of course,” said Leo. “Constance died there.” Constance had been their colleague, a gifted locksmith.

“Morvia was Ilhen's Fourth.”

“Have any of these Ilhen's been solved?” asked Tomasso.

“Only one — the Second,” answered Cosimo. “By a watchmaker, incidentally. It took him three years of painstaking effort, and it cost him an ear and both legs. Within the inner sanctum he found a wizard staff.”

“Not a bad haul,” said Tomasso. “A lot of men would trade an appendage or two for such treasures.”

“The Seventh is said to be Ilhen's finest work. His magnum opus.”

“What's in it? Are there any theories…?”

“There are an abundance of theories, but they’re just idle speculation. It is shrouded in secrecy, so I personally suspect its contents are something to do with the occult.”

“I see,” said Tomasso. “Where do we come in?”

In reply, Cosimo reached into one of the many folds of his heavy Qirini robes and produced a crisp yellow note.

“The clue,” he said, sliding it over to Leo and Enzo. “Do you know what this is?”

Leo bent to examine the note. Upon it, a grid of letters were arrayed in neat rows and columns, printed in minuscule font. He noted the presence of Diji glyphs. The Diji were the indigenous peoples of the Genoa, a sinister race of hominids with webbed feet and scaly skin. They were primitive and savage, delighting in wanton violence. Their language was a glyph system; simple geometric shapes were layered to form words.

“A cryptogram,” said Enzo. “Curious… there are several alphabets represented. Arkimidean, Common, Myrkish, even Diji. How is it connected to Ilhen's Seventh?”

“It has his seal,” said Cosimo, pointing to a symbol embedded near the center of the grid: a snake curled around the letter I, its body crusted with spikes. “The same seal found on the door of Ilhen’s Third and used in a cryptogram that introduced Ilhen’s Fifth.”

“You’re quite the scholar on this Ilhen fellow,” said Gianna. “So you need us to help you solve it?”

“No. I hired a cryptomancer to decipher it — the famous cryptomancer Golgas, Professor Emeritus of Skyborn University. He made short work of it. Here was the solution.” He collected the cryptogram and slid over another slip of paper. This one read: Canyon Falls, East Appias.

“Presumably,” said Cosimo, ”the deathtrap is located somewhere in Canyon Falls.”

“So… you want us to go there and find it?” said Gianna.

“No,” said Cosimo, his voice dripping with scorn, “I want them.” He pointed to Leo and Enzo. “And not alone. I intend to lead the expedition. But I have no use for apprentices — especially a girl apprentice.”

“Then I,” said Leo, “have no use for you. Gianna comes, or I don't.”

“Leo, let's not be rash…” Tomasso held up his hands in a placating gesture.

“Rash? A minute ago you said you won't conduct business with a liar.”

“Well… yes, but then he gave us a house…”

“Gave you a house. You can keep it. I want Gianna. Those are my demands.”

Leo glanced at Enzo, expecting him to chime in agreement. But he was evidently deep in contemplation. His eyes were glazed, his lips moving wordlessly as though giving form to his thoughts.

Cosimo, meanwhile, seemed torn. He looked to Tomasso and, finding no help, sighed.

“Very well,” he said. “But I cannot vouch her safety.”

“You needn’t worry on that account,” said Leo, smiling at Gianna. “She can handle her own.”

The girl had an almost uncanny ability to escape near-certain death. As a former orphan she’d wandered the mean streets of Corinth, pickpocketing tourists to make a living. Before being recruited to the Pathfinders, she was once captured by the city guards and placed on the gallows to be hanged for her crimes. Leo and Enzo had watched in awe as she escaped the noose before a crowd of hundreds of onlookers. Another time, one of the Vampire Lestrade’s minions had cast a Lightning Bolt spell on her, causing her to plunge one hundred feet into a rocky sea. Somehow she had missed every rock and was eager to repeat the experience — Leo had had to forcefully stop her.

“Golgas was wrong,” said Enzo, his reverie suddenly broken.

“Wrong? What do you mean?” For the first time tonight, Cosimo’s composure had broken. He looked deeply concerned.

“I'll show you. Consider the sequence of prime numbers: 2, 3, 5, 7, 11, and so on. Look at the letters following that pattern. Put the letters together, and the pattern spells a Vedic phrase: flure kazimean botoro.”

Cosimo furiously withdrew the cryptogram again. It took him a few moments to confirm what Enzo had said. He looked up at Enzo, stunned.

“How… You — you memorized the cryptogram?”

“Eidetic memory,” said Gianna somewhat haughtily. “Enzo has a pristine memory. He was once a forgery artist, you know.”

“Fascinating,” said Cosimo, staring at Enzo with newfound awe. He looked back down at the cryptogram. “Flure kazimean botoro. What does it mean?”

“Roughly translated, it means fire reveals truth.”

“Canyon Falls was a red herring. A false solution…” said Tomasso.

“A false one to hide the true,” explained Enzo. “Cryptomantic spells only seek one solution. By planting a false one, an easily detectable one, the cryptogram is thereby resistant to cryptomancy.”

Cosimo nodded. “Clever.” He handed the cryptogram back to Enzo.

Enzo took it and crossed over to the hearth, holding it just out of range of the licking flames. The cryptogram’s grid disappeared and was replaced by a series of numbers: 8.15.73

“What does it mean? What are the numbers for?”

“If I’m not mistaken, it’s a library serial. This format is used by the Aetheneum Library. It might be an Index to a book or magical artifact.”

“You're certain?” asked Cosimo.

Enzo shrugged. “The only way to know for certain is to go there.”

For a few moments Cosimo said nothing. Then he slapped his hands together. “Then that’s where we’ll go.”

Enzo and Gianna exchanged bemused expressions.

“One does not simply walk into the Aetheneum,” said Enzo. “It’s more than a library. It’s more akin to a government research facility.” Enzo and Leo had been on many daring assignments, and had faced death on an almost daily basis, but there was one man and one woman he did not cross: Duke Ferdinand II of Genoa and the Empress Fortuna.

“What sort of research?” asked Leo.

“Sorcery. Especially its military applications, if the rumors are true.”

“But you can get us in, surely? You’re the Pathfinders guild.”

“We’ll find a way,” said Tomasso, before Enzo could protest. “Shall we, err, negotiate the terms of the contract?”

“I don't negotiate,” Cosimo said, standing up. “But you will find my terms amenable.”

Is that a guarantee of generosity, Enzo wondered, or a threat?